Hearing the words is nothing new to me. I know I’m plain looking, and it doesn’t bother me. Beauty will only get you raped in my world.
Wincing from the jarring ache in my hip, I quickly climb to my feet. I gather the overturned cup, and tugging a cloth from my apron, I wipe up the spilled tea before scurrying out of the sitting room.
I try not to limp, doing my best to ignore the pain in my hip. Stopping in the kitchen, I set the tray down, then glance at Agnes, one of the other maids. “Have tea taken to the sitting room. I’m going to get dinner for Mr. Mazur. He wants seafood.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, her tone the same as mine – void of emotion.
Everyone who works under this roof has been conditioned to just exist for one sole purpose – to serve Tymon Mazur, head of the Polish mafia.
We’re his to do with as he pleases.
Leaving the kitchen that’s fit for a five-star chef but hardly gets used to prepare meals for Tymon, I take the set of stairs at the back of the mansion down to the maid's quarters.
The basement holds two rows of beds and a single bathroom where the four maids, three gardeners, and two butlers sleep.
This has been my home since I can remember.
The dimly lit space is where Mom used to whisper fairytales to me and where I did my homework by flashlight after fulfilling my duties. That was only until I turned sixteen. I never got to finish school.
Crouching next to my bed, I pull the box from beneath it and take out a pair of worn sneakers. I slip the polished black pumps off, and after stepping into the sneakers, I tie the laces. Tucking the pumps into the box that holds my social security card, a photo of Mom, the worn Cinderella storybook, two sets of uniforms, two sweatpants, two shirts, and a sweater, I slide it back beneath the bed.
At twenty-two, it’s all I have. A single box.
I hurry out of the maid’s quarters and quickly make my way to the grand foyer where Mr. Kowalski, the head butler, is standing by the front door to receive any guests Tymon might have.
All the staff came over from Poland, and at first, I learned the language, but after Mom passed, I couldn’t be bothered.
Mr. Kowalski is in his early seventies and dressed in a black suit, he looks like he’s lived a hundred years too many.
“I have to go to Aqua,” I murmur.
Mr. Kowalski lets out a heavy sigh as he pulls the credit card out of his jacket’s inner pocket. We only use the card for Tymon’s meals and anything needed for the mansion.
Handing the card to me, he grumbles, “Hurry.”
“Yes, sir.” I tuck the card safely into the breast pocket of my shirt, then remember to remove my apron. I quickly take it off and fold it into a bundle.
Mr. Kowalski rolls his eyes and holds out his hand to take it from me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my tone soft and respectful as always.
Opening the heavy wooden door, I step out of the mansion. Guards litter the property as I walk toward the SUV we’re allowed to use whenever we have to run an errand for Tymon. Filip kills the cigarette he was smoking and slips behind the steering wheel while I climb into the passenger seat.
“Where to?” he mumbles as he starts the engine.
“Aqua.”
I glance at the manicured lawn, and once we leave the property, it feels like boulders roll off my shoulders. Even though I have to hurry, I always cherish the time whenever I get to escape the mansion.
An automatic smile brushes over my lips as I take the bag from the server. I glance at the time on my wristwatch, and my heart kicks in my chest when I notice I only have twenty-six minutes to get back to the mansion.
Shit. I hope the traffic won’t be too bad.
Hurrying out of the restaurant, I turn left and slam into a wall of muscle. Startled, a shriek escapes me, then I go down hard and fast. Unable to stop the motion, I fall onto my right side and the bag skids across the sidewalk.
In absolute horror, I watch as the containers open, and seafood scatters over the ground and a pair of brown leather shoes.
God. No.
Pins and needles erupt over my skin, and wincing from the ache in my hip, I move into a kneeling position, adjusting my skirt to cover my legs.
The food is ruined.
Tymon’s going to kill me.
“Just what I fucking needed.” The growl is dark, harboring a world of danger.
There’s a whooshing in my ears, and as if in slow motion, I look up at the man standing among the scattered prawns and oysters.